I sat at my desk not too aware of what I was typing, it came out and I continued the flow. I felt burning eyes, I felt heaving lungs, I felt the perspiration, the cold sweat but carried on typing – ignoring surroundings, and so my body. Do not concentrate on time, I told myself, forget it exists, do as you are meant to and go through the motions of existence. It will end soon, and you will pass through. And, so I carried on typing.

Earlier, a week before and I was laughing at a party as high as the winters breeze, swaying in the air, oblivious to harm, feeling simply like the paper in the wind – there are places to go to, I was free to venture, I had it all before me. High I was. I sipped at my vodka, leant against the counter and dragged on a cigarette…dragged on a cigarette. I gestured and talked, loudly and confidently and drank more and took all its offerings. I felt loved, and I loved back. You get and you give.

The party was at my house, a house I shared with three other girls – a house made for socialising; with a large open kitchen with tiles that were somewhat tattered and therefore conducive to falling drinks and burnt cigarettes. I danced, seductively with my friends, I smiled and I enjoyed the rhythm, the rhythm of the beat. ‘I don’t think you’re ready for this jelly…’ All these friends, I thought. Look at all the friends I have and how beautiful. How good to be young, how open to it all.

And then, at my desk, tapping away. Numb, or at least, telling myself to be numb. Go through life that way, you can do it. Keep quiet, silent, and go through life that way. Live in your own corner, be your own friend. Numb, you are numb, and so typing away not watching the clock, I told myself over and over again. ‘Numb…you can be numb….’

I didn’t have a hangover but I could not sleep, as I never can when I have had a big party and the house, I know, is a ragged mess. I lay in my bed, felt the heavy arm around my waist and stared at the ceiling. Stared at the whiteness, stared at the imperfections of a human hand, stared at the light falling away and darkness etching near – and so, for a few hours I lay, against a warm breathing body and calmly waited for the comfort that I prayed, and so hoped would come.

…Instead, I felt tears and frustration and the heavy lump of an arm, thick and sludgy pushing me in a corner, I felt the weariness and I felt the whiteness of the ceiling, so vivid before falling down. I’m coming to catch you, and a feint singsong lullaby of a little girl. ‘I’m coming to get you…’ and my whole life was before my eyes, wholly lucid! ‘I’m coming to get you…’ I cowered in a corner, I covered my face with my arms, and I whispered ‘No, No I am sorry’ I said a prayer and I asked forgiveness. ‘I was too young’ I said, ‘Too young, I would have been no good…’

I sat at the desk, going about my job. Doing my work – I am being paid for this, I told myself. Do your job, Loneliness is not alone, I shall not be committed, I shall handle the rails of life, walk steadily, alone and remember to weep silently, if at all.

The parties of the past ringed through my ear, as I walked carefully, step by step to my home – to the studio flat I habited alone, where I could dive under a duvet and go to sleep, to the dreams I could twist and manipulate, under warmth and in darkness. I could lie, if sleep came or not and still make up an alter-reality, change the course of it all. I walked, carefully, knowingly, step by step counting my steps and headed to my home.